Night Horrors: Sealed Away
by Strange Liou
Summary: Yami, Marik and Bakura are soon to be un-exiled Vampires, but that will only be the beginning of a new set of hardships. Seto and Joey's precarious partnership will be tested as the Slayer goes down his destructive path. And Malik's got a secret that will affect them all. Vampire & Werewolf AU. Yaoi. Many Pairings. Complex Plot. REPOSTED
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

Hi, everyone! It's been another super-busy semester, so I've been cruelly cut off from working on NH (chapter 8 will be finished soon, I swear). Last Friday I also got a bit of a shock when I logged into my strangeliou email for the first time in a few weeks to find that NH:SA had been removed!

Removal and Reposting: An Explanation

The reason for it, from what I understand is that I had a swear word (the rude way of saying 'poo') in the story's summary, which is supposed to be G rated. Haha, I knew my potty-mouth would get me into trouble, but I never thought it would be on the internet!

So I'm sorry for being silly and missing such a simple rule! Mea culpa!

Edits:

BUT I think this is a great opportunity to do some of the edits I wanted to make for a while now! So I'll be updating roughly once a week, the chapters will be almost the same (except for Yugi's parts. Old readers will know I wanted to do a complete rewrite of those). And in the meanwhile I'll work to get Chapter 8 done (though I think that'll have to wait until after my Final Exams =P).

To my amazing, crazy readers:

I've got all your wonderful feedback in my email's inbox =) (sometimes being an email pack-rat has its benefits!) For those who gave me critiques (thank you so much for them!) before regarding chapters, I'll take them all into account as I post the slightly-revised ones. Chapter 8 will be my top priority after my Final Exam Period ends, regardless if I have all 7 chapters up by then. If I don't have them all up, I'll post it in my y!gallery account and put a little message about that in my Profile.

I think that cover's everything!

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Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! and I make no profit out of this work of fanfiction. It is just a fun waste of my time and energy (the best kind!).

**Beta:** This wouldn't exist without the hard work of my wonderful beta-reader, **Tucker's Mayflower**!

**WARNINGS: None.**

GENERAL WARNINGS: The story will include violence, messed up relationships, slavery, vampires that eat people and other slightly less questionable things.

Rating: M, to be safe, though not all chapters will be M rated. However, it will never include explicit sexual content (also known as "lemons" - I don't know why).

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**Story cover: www DOT y - gallery DOT net / view / 748463 /**

(Yes, I have noticed the brand-spanking new image feature! But its too small for the whole cover, so I figured I'd provide the link to the original.)

Onto the prologue!

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**Chapter 1: Prologue**

_The Mortal Realm is one in precarious peace. The crippling wars left behind a world divided across three continents, the South broken away from the rest by sea. The East and West are separated by a vast impenetrable 'sea of mountains', referred to by the Westerners as the "Devil's Teeth", and the Easterners as the "Sky Fingers". _

_The West is made up of four separate kingdoms, Vielkopolska, Terragoza, Tormes and Hrygany, all under the holy rule of the Divine Pope. The East is a union of the Chinese, Japanese, and Korean folk under the iron fist of the Scorpion Emperor. Then there is the South, an Arabic-speaking land that is in constant turmoil, many of its lands colonized by the West, or lost in the struggle of raging Princes. _

_Beneath it all there is an underworld that few Mortals know about and even fewer understand, three expansive kingdoms belonging only to the horrors of the night._

-o-

There was still time, but it was quickly running out. His foolish brothers had settled on weaklings as their Chosen and somehow thought they could prepare them in the time that was left to carry out the impossible. That couldn't be helped. It was Shadi's obligation to see his Chosen triumph and stop the inevitable.

But there was still so much to do.

Shadi crossed the seemingly fragile stone bridge to the tall, thin castle perched on a sharp mountain peak, its pointed towers and walls dusted with snow. Much had changed since Shadi had last visited the Dark King Maximillian van Crawford, commonly known as Pegasus, the ruler of the Western Vampires, the Strigoi. The last time he visited him, Pegasus was attending Court, making preparations for that year's Council. Now Shadi had to seek him out in the outskirts of the Devil's Teeth, locked up in the most fortified Lair Shadi has ever stepped into.

The gate opened instantly for him and the guards allowed him passage without question. He was probably one of the very few that would be so readily allowed entry.

He noticed the strangely scarce guards, standing rigid as statues at every door. Unlike Mortal guards, they were not covered in shining metal plate, but black leather clothing with black face masks and hoods, to protect them from the sun's touch. A silver plate rested over their Heart stamped with the image of a winged horse, and a silver sword in their ebony scabbard.

Two escorted him mutely through a short corridor, past the entrance hall and into the antechamber, with black velvet sofas and a black bear rug. "Wait here," the taller barked, and Shadi saw one of the guards stationed at the largest and most ornate door, slip through it.

The rumours rang true. Pegasus was still mourning the demise of his Blood Sister. Even better, Pegasus was still desperate for his council. It was clear the guards all knew who he was; Pegasus no doubt told them he was expecting a Southerner dressed in white. Unlike his brothers, Shadi kept his appearance unchanged. Being well known was sometimes the most convenient cover.

The guard returned and both slowly opened the large doors, giving view to the Throne Room.

Although the place was lavishly decorated, it was all black. Black rugs, black banners, black pillows… the only thing there of any other colour were the grey stone walls and the winged silver horse emblazoned on the Crawford Coat of Arms, hung above the throne. The guard saluted next to him and called out, "Shadi the Wanderer!" His voice rebounded off the immense empty space and fell on the ears of its only other occupant.

The guard remained at the door as Shadi crossed a considerable way towards the dais. Pegasus sat slumped into his ebony throne, his face a mask of prolonged misery.

Shadi bowed his head and said nothing.

"You have not offered council in quite some time," Pegasus said softly.

Shadi raised his gaze to meet the Dark King's eye and took a brief note of the simple black eye-patch. Robed in rich black furs and satin, his hair tied back modestly, face drawn and stern, he looked much different from the flamboyant Strigoi Shadi had previously counselled. He looked desperate, just as Shadi needed him to be.

"I have heard of the fate that had befallen your Blood Sister," Shadi said, getting straight to the point. He was glad he no longer had to bat away Pegasus' suggestions for drink and merriment. He had still much to do before the turn of the moon. "The tale has stirred my heart."

"Your sentiment moves me, Shadi." The Dark King fingered the eye patch self-consciously. "Her demise..." He couldn't find the strength to finish his sentence.

Shadi burrowed into his innermost pocket and withdrew a tiny object which nestled snugly in his palm. "I bring you a gift to restore your hope." This was too easy.

The Strigoi King shook his head. "There is no hope, not without Cecilia," he sighed.

Shadi extended his hand and opened it to reveal a small golden ball. "Exactly."

The Dark King's exposed eye widened in disbelief.

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So that's that (you may have noticed a few minor changes). The next chapter will be up sometime next week probably. There's a few edits I want to make to it, hence the delay.

**Next chapter:** Introductions!


	2. Chapter 2

Hi!

Sorry for the delay, I was messing around with this longer than I should have =P

******Beta:** This wouldn't exist without the hard work of my wonderful beta-reader,**Tucker's Mayflower**!

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! and I make no profit out of this work of fanfiction. It is just a fun waste of my time and energy (the best kind!).

**WARNINGS: Violence, groping, implied sex.  
**

Onto the first real chapter!

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**Chapter 2**

Ryou willed his stomach still as he leaned on the railing of the ship, eyes fixed on the horizon, as dawn broke on the twenty seventh day. They would be hitting shore before noon. The thought caused his stomach to give another unpleasant spasm.

His Master hadn't demanded pleasure from him for ten days now. It was strange, normally a Master would take advantage of whatever time they had left with him, but this one seemed to have genuinely lost interest. Iya and Yuki, his Master's newest bed slaves, for their part had gone into greater efforts of avoiding him, but he had never liked them anyway.

Initially he had been glad to change Masters, hoping for one that didn't spend most of his time at sea. That was until his Master decided to sell him in the West. With almost sixteen years he was growing too old too fast to be a desirable slave in his homeland. His current Master had far better chances of getting a good price on the other side of the Sky Fingers.

"You might want to go back inside," one of the sailors called in Spanish, climbing down a rope net, "It's gonna get busy up here."

Ryou glanced up at him. The man had the darkest skin he had ever seen, a deep almost brown, with long spiky black hair. He was the first Southerner Ryou had seen up close, and had initially been frightened of him.

But despite his menacingly strong build, scar and strange appearance, he was the only one on the ship willing to speak to him in a friendly manner. The few times they had established a conversation had been pleasant enough, and a good practice of Spanish.

"Don't feel well, sir," Ryou murmured, awkwardly curling his tongue around the language, and turned his eyes back to the sea.

"Nervous?" The man asked, moving to mirror Ryou's position on the railing. "The Western Kingdoms aren't so bad. They have their curiosities."

"Have you been there?"

The man flashed him a perfect grin. "I've been in Terragoza and Tormes. I've seen the ruins of Rome and the mysterious remains of the Druid Circles. I once had a Master who was a rich traveller and historian from the Vatican."

Ryou looked at him with new eyes. "You were a slave?"

"I ran away when I was eighteen. Been a sailor since." The man shrugged. "My Master was an interesting sort, but too harsh with the beatings. There's only so much a guy can take." He suddenly straightened up when he was called. "Yeah, yeah!" he yelled back in equally perfect Japanese. He clapped Ryou on the shoulder before hurrying away.

Ryou watched him go, and then fixed his eyes on the rising sun. He bit down the sudden wave of resentment towards the sailor and hoped he wouldn't have to speak to him again. As the sun began to emerge, he made his way back to his quarters, lest a tan should further decrease his value.

-o-

"Our superiors would _not_ approve."

Seto chose to ignore him and took hold of the reins.

"Are you so eager to displease everyone?" Father Roland hissed. For a priest he was terribly argumentative.

"Let's get this straight," Seto turned to him, tired of his declarations. "You are working for me, not the other way round. And I am providing a service for the community."

"No, let's get _this _straight!" Father Roland's voice increased in volume, causing a few servants in the courtyard to stare, "I am charged with making sure you don't step out of line! If you suspect vampire activity, you send a letter to the Archslayer of the province. You _do not_ hop on your horse and charge into the fray!"

The way he went on about it one would think Seto was about to take on an army of vampries. Seto was starting to wish it had been Roland's and not Tristan's turn to give mass to the Knight and his family. "This discussion is over," Seto snapped and mounted his horse, "Joey!"

A large yellow dog bounded over to his side and Seto nudged the horse to trot across the courtyard towards the gate in a rhythmic clatter over the cobbles.

Father Roland threw his arms up in frustration.

The gates out of the Manor proper were opened for them and Seto urged his horse into a canter, Joey running close with his tongue lolling out in a goofy grin. It seemed he was enjoying the fresh air as much as Seto.

The Knight's Manor was a terribly boring place to be. The house was once an old castle, part of which had collapsed beyond repair and the rest had been rebuilt into the stone house it was now. What walls remained had been pulled down and used to build the church and stables around a small courtyard with a large gate, remnant of the old castle, between them. With the four Kingdoms under the rule of the Pope and the colonial wars over, there wasn't much for a Knight to do. So Seto and the others were stuck entertaining him as he didn't have the sufficient wealth or good name to play host to other Knights or Lords.

Finding something to do outside the Manor wasn't easy. The village housed only about three hundred souls and the nearest city was a good two days on horseback away. So he was somewhat glad to hear the lament of a peasant regarding his daughter and a supposed vampire.

Joey barked as they approached the village, scattering chickens and a pig. Several women seemed to appear out of nowhere with their shoals over their heads, greeting him enthusiastically. As a priest he was something of a god in their eyes. It was good enough to have the people's trust, but it became a bother when they would start turning up at the church for him to settle petty disputes, heal injured animals, solve problems, and ask him for weather forecasts.

For that reason Seto made it a point to be cold and distant. Tristan had criticized him for it, but now he was the villagers' favourite and no doubt regretted it.

"Where is the girl?" Seto barked as he heard the beating hooves that announced the approach of Roland. Several women turned and called out in greeting to the other priest.

Seto turned in his saddle to look at him, but was content when the priest merely nodded his greetings and kept his overly-active mouth shut. Seto returned his attention to the villagers and asked again, "Where is the girl?"

"Here! I'm her father!" The women parted to let a middle-aged man approach. He looked sensible enough, his face leathery and dirty from hard work and plenty of sunlight. "Follow me, Father, I'll take you to see her."

"This is your source?" Father Roland whispered sceptically to Seto. "You do realize the common folk aren't known for their honesty."

Seto had his own theories on honesty and monetary power, but now wasn't the time to argue. "Then take us to her," He commanded, dismounting.

Bobbing his head 'yes', the peasant man led them between the huts. The women followed, murmuring excitedly to one another, but thankfully also keeping a respectful distance. Joey ran back and forth around them, head dipping repeatedly as he searched for suspicious scents. He was a master tracker; if there was a vampire around he would find it.

While they walked, the villager repeated his story for Roland's benefit. It was a common enough formula, and in its retelling, with Roland as audience, the likelihood of vampire activity seemed greatly diminished. A stranger apparently turned up, was taken in by a young couple and disappeared the next after the husband turned pale and sickly, and died. Of course the Knight had been informed of the incident, but brushed it away. It wasn't until the previous day that Seto learned about it when the man came to inform the Priests. By the look that Roland gave him, Seto knew that if he hadn't been there to hear out the villager, Roland wouldn't have believed him either. Seto had his doubts as well, but he had to be certain.

"Ah, here's my daughter's house," he stopped them in front of an unremarkable hut, and waited for the priests to tie their horses to a small tree beside it. Then, he ushered them inside.

"She says her husband has been visiting her in her dreams." The man shook his head. "It's difficult to believe, but maybe…"

Maybe her husband had been turned into a vampire. It was a possibility. He had seen abandoned fledglings return to friends and family for the comfort of familiarity, only to discover food. Seto watched Joey's reactions as the dog quickly circled the simple room, rounded the crude table and chairs and inspected the hard packed earthy floor with his nose. But the dog returned to his side without the slightest complaint. It seemed that this time, vampires weren't involved.

The man had also been watching the dog curiously. "Does it know vampires?"

"He does." Seto said.

One of the two rough doors opened and a woman poked her head out. "Father Seto," she said with a strained smile and emerged, wiping her hands on her apron. "Father Roland," she added politely. "She's just inside."

The girl had been confined to a small bare room, save for a straw bed, out of precaution. There was an empty bowl on the ground beside her. "She has been eating then?" Seto asked, pointing to the bowl.

The man shook his head. "Barely. My wife had to finish it."

A bad sign. "Wake her and tell her that we must examine her and ask a few questions." Seto said and noticed Roland was hanging back with a handkerchief pressed to his nose, as one would from a leper. He looked ridiculous.

Joey returned to his side after again inspecting the room just as the girl stirred. Her eyes fluttered open and settled on her father who murmured the explanations. Then she looked at Seto and Roland and finally at Joey, before turning back to her father and nodding.

"Step outside, please." Seto commanded.

The father and mother were surprised, but they wasn't about to question a priest, so the left, muttering assurances to their daughter. Seto went to her immediately, wanting to get this done and over with. "Has a vampire been visiting you at night?"

The girl, no older than twenty, shook her head slowly, grey eyes wide. "N-not that I remember. Maybe, in my sleep… I've been dreaming of my husband."

At least she was honest. In any case there was one simple way to settle the matter. "I will now need to examine you make sure you haven't been fed upon." She was very pale. "So sit up."

"Is this really necessary?" Roland asked in a near-whine.

Seto just about had it with his complaints. "If this girl was attacked by a vampire there will be a mark," Seto said matter-of-factly, "a laceration, a bite, anything that would draw blood. This is the simplest way to verify." He looked down at their subject in question. She was looking between them uncertainly, and far more lively than the usual vampire victim. Normally victims had an exhausted, drained, half-dead look to them this girl didn't. She just looked ill.

"Now, sit up," Seto said, taking her by her upper arm to help her steady herself.

She swung her legs over the edge, not quite touching the ground, and waited patiently as Seto pulled back her long brown hair to examine her neck, then her arms. Joey padded over and sniffed at her bare legs. She took the opportunity to pet him and he soon abandoned himself to her tender caresses with a huge panting grin, tail thumping happily against the floor.

Seto's inspection revealed nothing and his assumption was verified: it wasn't a vampire she was having trouble with. "Help her get back in bed, I'll speak with her parents," he ordered Roland and promptly left the room, leaving Joey behind.

He walked out of the house. The young woman's father saw him and went over quickly. "There is no vampire haunting her," Seto stated.

"So she'll be alright?" The man asked eagerly, a relieved smile already forming.

"Far from it. If it had been a vampire then that would have meant she was perfectly healthy. But since it is not, her blood loss is likely attributed to illness. The only thing you can do is make sure she eats sheep kidneys and liver and she may yet recover."

"But the animals…" the man trailed off uncertainly.

Seto knew that none of the animals belonged to the peasants, and thus it would technically be thieving for them to kill and eat one, but this was a matter of saving a human life. Should the Knight find out, Seto was ready to bring his influence as priest into play. "Do not worry. This is under my direct order. I will return tomorrow to see how she is doing."

The man nodded readily, just as Father Roland and Joey emerged. "Of course, of course. Thank you, Father."

With a final blessing, Seto and Father Roland mounted their steeds and made their way back the Manor house, ignoring the questions of the peasant women who soon enough got tired of following them.

"Ah, good, we're not too late for the peasant afternoon mass." Roland said with a relief that made Seto's displeasure towards him grow. "I will have to report your wanderings though."

"Yes, I'm quite sure the Bishop will want to hear all about my evil concern over a girl's life. Write to him and tell him how wrong I was to care."

"I'll do no such thing, Father Seto." The priest said aghast. "I am merely stating that you should stick to the duties assigned to you. Leave vampire business to Slayers."

Seto's jaw tightened as a wave of frustration rushed through him. He was stuck in some Knight's Manor chasing tall tales while so-called Slayers with all the resources available to them did nothing to exterminate the undead vermin.

-o-

The harbor was busy with activity after three ships had docked that day. The trading season had begun in earnest, and the autonomous port town of Madera had swelled as merchants of the interior of Terragoza came to trade their merchandise for the overseas goods. Others flocked to the town for the festival that would begin in a few days, or to get an eyeful of the exotic creatures and items that arrived. Soon, give or take a month or a week, the surrounding Manors, cities and the Royal Court would be replenished with the foreign wonders they had come to rely on.

Seagulls swarmed over the streets, screaming for food and swooping in at every occasion, though they kept a healthy distance from Bakura. From his perch on the roof of a two storey inn close to the harbour, he observed the activity silently. For Bakura, the merchandize and coloured people were a glimpse of the land and culture they had left behind.

He remembered being excited, exhilarated that he and his Blood Brothers had left the Southern continent to enter a foreign land full of strange wonders for them to conquer. But after five hundred years of strange cultures, pent up frustration and isolation, Bakura was tired of the West.

One seagull flew boldly close. Bakura's hand snapped out and caught it around its neck and chest. In an instant all the birds were gone, as their fellow struggled. It squawked, batting its wings desperately against Bakura's grip, before it was suddenly released, beating its wings furiously.

Bakura watched it disappear from sight, then stood up and climbed along the sloping tiles to the side that ended in a small alley between the Inn and a tailoring store. He eased his way into it silently then walked out into the main street with the crowd.

This port was nothing like the one of his arrival. The buildings were tall, some even more than two storeys high. They had tiles instead of straw for roofs and they were all wooden. The roads were wide enough to allow two wagons side-by-side to pass through and the mortals were much more colourful. One could easily tell the rich from the poor just by the colour and detail on their garments. Only the very rich women wore jewellery and the richest men wore large rings. Bakura had once enjoyed the gentle clicks and sparkle of jewellery, but he had dropped the habit of wearing his earrings and necklaces a long time ago. He couldn't remember exactly the last time he had bothered going into any extra effort to adorn himself.

But now he felt a change. Perhaps it was the atmosphere in the port, the energy of all those people brought together in that one small town.

He lost himself in the flow of the crowd towards the docks where the merchandise was being unloaded. Seeing the Southerner sailors with their copper skin sent a thrill up his spine. They wore white linen as they always had, although now it was fashioned into ballooning pants and sashes dyed red or orange. He was pleased to even see a turban, the same shape as worn before their exile.

It had been several centuries since they had been close enough to a port to see their own people, not as slaves but as free men going about their business. He cut through the throng towards one group, meaning to call out and ask for news of the South, but something else caught his eye.

Most ships came from the southern continent, mainly from the lands colonized by Terragoza and Vielkopolska, transporting the spoils of the enslaved nations. But the most sought after merchandise – silk, china and jade – came from the East. Their ships were easily distinguished by their fan-like blood red sails. One such ship had docked, and the crew was beginning the unloading process.

What caught his interest was a head of white hair, standing out of the way of the busy crew. The figure was turned away from him, and the distance was too great for Bakura's sun-dulled eyes to gather further detail than the top a simple Eastern garb, different from that of the crew and only shared by two more such figures, standing further away.

Bakura dodged sailors and idle bystanders, trying to get closer to see more clearly the creature with white hair. Other than on himself, he had never seen such colouring, but for the elderly, and this one did not have the bent posture of an elder.

One of the Eastern sailors barked something in their strange tongue, and the white haired one turned around, giving Bakura a vague glimpse of a porcelain face, before he or she, along with the other two, were ushered into the interior of the ship.

Bakura stared after them a while longer, until his Ka, Diabound, gave him a jolt.

He gave a start, and looked around the crowd. Sailors, merchants, women, slaves and thieves milled around him, their murmur deafening his ears. He didn't see anyone suspicious, but the daylight clouded his vision. He decided to listen to his Ka, the Shadow Spirit lodged within his Heart, and retreated, pushing through the crowd back to the streets of the town. Diabound twisted within him, his unease and excitement permeating Bakura. His Ka rarely ever led him astray, so if he thought there was going to be action, Bakura would make sure he got the higher ground.

Eyes and ears pealed for any sign of danger, he strode at a purposeful pace. Caution prevented him from making a scene, but tremor of excitement within him demanded a confrontation, so he went to where the crowds thinned and the streets became narrower. The more occasional mortal was dirtier, sitting in a corner unmoving, or walking briskly away. Now he could feel quite acutely he was being followed by at least three.

He turned into a small alley and suddenly something dropped down behind him.

He tried to turn around, but a strong arm pinned him and a familiar broad palm pressed against his mouth. Bakura relaxed and rolled his eyes.

"Gotcha," Marik whispered into his ear then ran his tongue along the edge of it.

Bakura elbowed him and drove his point home with a well-aimed thought through their link, a mental connection shared by direct relatives.

Mairk let go, surprised. "Someone followed you?"

Before Bakura could answer, two figures – vampires – stepped into the mouth of the alley. Marik spun around and Bakura knew the other exit was also blocked. Not that they would run.

"I almost cannot believe it. Bakura and Marik," one of the men said in Arabic and pulled back his hood, to reveal his Southern features and a bald head. Like them, he was a Southern vampire better known as a Sai-a'nekh. "You're either stupidly careless or you've decided to give yourselves up to justice."

Bakura chuckled, feeling Diabound coiling within him as if preparing to spring. "To be careless I'd have to actually risk being caught. I see no risk." He wasn't sure if it was him or his Ka, but he felt a buzz of excitement running right down to his toes. He was glad he had turned up at the port.

"Your confidence will end you," the bold one growled.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with!" Marik snapped, and Bakura snagged his wrist to keep him from lunging. It had been more than a century since their last ambush by Sai-a'nekh. He wanted to drag this out a little longer.

"Where is the Game King?" Another of their ambushers barked.

"I'm curious, did Aknadin send you personally?" Bakura asked instead of answering. "Or are you after the reward?" Diabound rose up within him and tested the air through Bakura's senses. Their pursuers were not fledglings. They must have arrived with the ships, old and experienced enough to rein in their hunger around mortals and smart enough to fit in; perhaps good enough to provide a challenge.

"That is of no concern to you!" The bald one snapped.

"Bounty hunter then," Bakura smirked. "How did you know we were here? Or did you just find us by accident?"

The one beside the bald one pulled back his hood to reveal a deceptively younger face with close cut hair and growled, "Your questions are only delaying the inevitable. Your crimes will never be forgotten, you will never know peace."

"Then stop talking and come get me," Bakura sneered.

The man ripped out his scimitar and the others followed suit, "Khnum will guide my blade!" He yelled and they all charged.

Bakura released Marik's wrist and dove to fish out a dagger from within his boot before remembering it had been years since last he kept one there. Instead he tucked his shoulder in for a roll, avoiding the swing of the man's scimitar. But that put him right in the path of other one's scimitar.

The blade sliced right through his wrist and bit into his shoulder. But Bakura wasted no time. He slapped his fingers around the bald man's grip on the sword's handle and drove the stump of his right arm, reinforced with Diabound's power, into the man's face with a sickening crunch. He then yanked the man around with his good hand, making him collide with his partner and jumped away.

The one with the boyish face shoved his bald companion aside and made to swing his scimitar again.

Bakura whipped his stump out so that the sand coming out of it sprayed onto the man's face then dodged his strike. He had no trouble seizing the blinded man's throat and ripping his head off with Diabound's power. He turned to the bald man, whose face was just reforming, and advanced, Diabound's power seeping down his good arm, turning the fingers into claws.

The man tried to bring his blade up, but Bakura knocked it away with his stump and drove his claws into the man's chest, through the Ka-formed scales, shredding his Heart. The fallen Sai-a'nekh's Ka screamed.

Bakura turned away to see the decapitated man's remains as well those of two others were strewn across the ground, and Marik had the last one in a vice grip against the wall.

Bakura suddenly realized that they might know stuff about Qutar and the rest of Neter'Khertet, his homeland. But did he really want to know? Before he could make up his mind Marik tore out the last Sai'a-nekh's heart. The man's screams echoed by his Ka.

Marik glanced at him and chuckled. "I can't believe they cut you," he chided, as the body finally slumped and begun turning to sand. Marik let go and patted his hand clean from it.

Bakura looked down at his right arm where his hand was starting to regrow, some sand still trickling out. The gash on his shoulder was healed; Diabound would need replenishment later. The corpses around them dissolved quickly into clumps of sand, leaving behind only their clothes and weapons.

"What?" Marik asked, noticing Bakura's forlorn look.

"Nothing." Bakura went to his first victim, bent down and picked up the sword, half buried in a pile of sand and clothes. No wonder it had lopped off his hand so easily; it was solid silver. He tucked it into his belt and began picking through the clothes absentmindedly to see if there was anything he would enjoy wearing.

"Bakura?"

"Let's go," Bakura shook the clothes clean and slung them over his arm with his newly-formed hand, turning his back on Marik completely.

Marik tugged the clothes out of his grip and tossed them away obnoxiously.

Bakura glared at him. "What Marik?" he growled.

"You're angry," Marik stated, frowning.

"I'm not angry." Bakura placed his hands on his hips. "You're just being annoying. Now pick them up."

"No," Marik smirked.

Bakura slowly inhaled and let out a long breath to calm his grated nerves. "Pick them up, Marik."

Marik's smirk widened and his eyes shone. "No."

Bakura's fist snapped out to slug him, but Marik caught it at the last moment, cackling. Bakura wouldn't have stopped at that, but the sound of several running boots caused them to forget their quarrel. Bakura gathered the clothes and quickly scaled the wall behind Marik, making it over just as officials rounded the corner into the alley to find nothing but scattered sand and clothes.

On the roof, Bakura stood up and began silently walking towards the inn where he had left his horse, easily jumping the gap onto the next roof. Marik followed, keeping pace, and Bakura could practically feel the amusement rolling off him through their link, 'Bakuraaaa,' he called across it.

Bakura rolled his eyes and sped up his pace. Just as he made to leap another distance, Marik bowled into him, destroying his balance. Bakura made a small surprised sound as he fell two storeys into the muddy cobbles of another small alley. Growling, he pushed himself onto his elbows when Marik landed on top of him. "Get off!" He bucked, springing to his feet and glaring down at his immature Blood Brother. "The hell is wrong with you?" Bakura yelled, wiping mud and who-knows-what-else from his face, "_Damn_ it, Marik!"

Suddenly he found himself pinned to the equally grimy wall, Marik's hand around his throat and his other locked on his wrists. "What's wrong, Bakura?" he asked silkily, as if he hadn't just pushed him off a roof.

Bakura glowered at him unamused. "Let go, Marik." He wouldn't give him the satisfaction of struggling.

"Methinks I like this position." Marik leaned in close, pressing his body flush against Bakura. "A lot," he whispered and gave him a toothy grin that revealed his fangs.

"Not now, Marik," Bakura huffed, irritated, he could feel Marik's Heart stirring, prodding Bakura's barriers for leverage.

"You left me," Marik continued to whisper, as if Bakura had never spoken, but now his words held a drop of venom. "Left without warning." His energies picked up with anger.

"I didn't leave you," Bakura hissed back at his volatile Blood Brother.

"You _LEFT_!" Marik yelled, squeezing Bakura's throat as his anger became fury that tore through Bakura's defences. "Just like you left Yami!"

Bakura pushed right back with matched power, slamming his head into Marik's and knocking him off. Sand trickled down his front gently and Bakura realised a small chunk of his throat was gone. He gave it no more thought, and straddled Marik while he was still down. He pinned his Blood Brother's arms above him, and just as he begun to struggle, Bakura slammed his lips into Marik's.

The anger was gone, replaced with equal intensity by desire.

"You followed me didn't you?" Bakura's own Heart stirred, and he felt Marik's Heart react.

Marik shoved him back and rolled them over, coursing his hands over Bakura's chest and under his shirt, dragging it up. "Open up," Marik growled.

Bakura smirked, pulling down the barriers and slamming his Heart's energy, his desire against Marik who snarled in response and fell upon his lips, pressing his form against him, grinding him into the cobbles. Bakura moaned into the kiss, pushing back, needing to feel more of him, his hands grasping his Blood Brother's back, tearing into it with his elongated claws, wanting more than was possible.

He felt himself harden as a mortal would and grinned. The Priests of Khnum taught that the lust was gone, that Turning purified the body causing them to become sterile and impotent, but practice, patience and desire was all it took to remind the body. Granted, it had taken his Blood Brothers and him over a century to learn it, and they were still perfecting the reaction. As it was, Marik was having some trouble channelling his energy into his nether regions.

Bakura sent his desire and desperate need to Marik in order to ignite the flame, rolling them over again. Bakura pulled away from his mouth and sat up, grinding his hardening length against Marik's, pulling his shirt up over his head. "Show me, Marik." He hissed, running a hand down his chest and abdomen, down to his crotch, coming to rest on Marik's. He grinned when he felt Marik's energy spike at the contact and his Blood Brother arch his back. The flesh finally began to swell.

-o-

Malik had been happy to finally leave the University and see Rishid and Ishizu again. But the happiness wore off quickly.

Father had decided they had to spend a month with the Nosakas at their Manor. It was all arranged so that there would be a ball in two weeks time during which Malik was to propose marriage to their only daughter, and thus attain a solid lordship and complete Father's dream of becoming Terragozite by law. The wedding would take place the following year at Court once Malik completed his studies at the Vatican University.

He hardly knew the girl, and what he knew of her he didn't like. She was as stupid as the other wenches at court, though her looks were better than most. The only reason gentlemen callers weren't flocking to her was that her family was in heavy debts, which made her a perfect target for the Ishtars. No Terragozite would willingly let any Southerner marry into their family, but the Ishtars were rich. Father, through his alliance with the Terragozite colonizers, had acquired enough Al-Minyan land and wealth to buy five small manors.

Miho Nosaka would arrive the following day in time for dinner, and Malik would be forced to spend time with her and makes sure, as Father put it, that she became enamoured with him. Despite their debts, Miho was the only child of the widowed Lord Nosaka, which meant that he cared overly much for her well being. So although the marriage was arranged, she still had sway over it, far more than Malik did. Perhaps he ought to risk Father's fury and make her hate him.

There was a soft rap at the door and Malik sat up on the bed, straightened his clothes and hair. "Come in!"

Ishizu walked in, closing the door quietly behind her. "Hello, Malik," she said softly. "Did you enjoy your breakfast?"

"No." Malik said flatly, flopping back down on the bed again.

Ishizu lightly kicked his foot. "Silly." She walked around the bed and looked down at him upside down. "I'd like us to go sightseeing today."

"I don't want to see some village," Malik retorted grumpily and Ishizu laughed.

She sat down beside his head and brushed a stray lock from his forehead. "There are freemen here," she explained, "They pay taxes to the Nosakas but they don't give them everything they earn. There are craftsmen and merchants also. And since it is the beginning of the Trade Season, there might even be some exciting things for sale."

"From Al'Minya?" Malik asked grumpily, refusing to let Ishizu see how much of a difference her high spirits made for him.

She smiled. "Perhaps. But I intend to visit Puerto Madera, that's where all the goods will be arriving. It is only half a day away and it is an important port."

Malik took her hand and squeezed it. "Alright, I'll accompany you if Rishid comes too."

"He is still yours, Malik, of course he'll come," Ishizu said, standing up.

Malik groaned as he got up, finding yet another thing to be upset about. "I can't believe Father is taking him away from me."

"Father thinks you've grown too…_attached_ to Rishid," Ishizu said softly. An 'I-told-you-so' hung heavily in the air.

Father could pretend all he liked that Rishid was an old family slave, but that didn't make it so. Father could pretend all he liked that their mother died giving birth to Malik, but that didn't make it so. Malik knew how to keep his mouth shut when necessary, but that didn't make it right either, even if it was to save his own skin. "Yes, I know."

"Malik," Ishizu opened the door and they walked out, a maid stood aside and bowed her head respectfully as they passed, "Father said you needed a new page, not that he was going to choose one for you. Perhaps you could make the purchase."

"You mean buy a slave?" Malik looked at her surprised. Sure, he had seen Father, Rishid and Khalid do it a few times, but he had never done so before himself. They had a few slaves in Court which had travelled with them. As they did not yet have any land, being Lords in title only, they needed only those few.

"Yes, if you wish to put it so crudely." She giggled, her eyes darting to another maid standing by. Ishizu was always so careful for fear of what information should leak to Father. Malik couldn't help but feel like they were speaking of conspiracies whenever they opened their mouths within potential earshot of Father. He hated to see Ishizu behave like a Terragozite wench, with the giggles and polite speech. "However, it would be a good opportunity for you to have some choice."

Malik had to agree with her on that one. "Send for Rishid," he told a passing valet, "Tell him I am going to see Father." He turned back to Ishizu, "We will need permission. You said Puerto Madera was half a day away?"

"Yes. If we are allowed to go we will be forced to spend the night. However, I'm sure there will be slaves from the South."

And maybe even from Al'Minya, thought Malik. Ishizu led him to the balcony where their father was currently engaged in serious conversation with Lord Nosaka.

Being male, Malik was forced to draw attention to them with a timid tap on the open door. They didn't hear it and Malik had to try again louder. The second tap was perhaps too loud because the two men jerked slightly before turning around to acknowledge them.

Lord Nosaka's face broke into a pleasant smile; Lord Ishtar's into a scowl that accentuated every hard line and left nothing of human warmth. "Hello, my son."

Malik swallowed and stepped forward, wishing his sister could remain at his side when addressing Father. "It is a small private matter, Father," Malik said in a steady voice, "my sister and I would like to leave for Puerto Madera. I am anxious to purchase a new page."

"Charming boy," Lord Nosaka said merrily, seeming to miss Father's utter lack of amusement at the proposition. "That sounds like a marvellous idea. I am sure the two of you are also excited to see the sea. Although I am certain Malik knows it quite well, I am not sure if Ishizu has been able to see it since you arrived. And that was…"

"Six years ago." Father supplied, turning back to Lord Nosaka. "Yes, I can imagine my children are thirsting for a taste of salt. Very well, son, you may go and purchase a page, however," He gave Malik the full attention of his stone cold eyes, "I trust you will make an appropriate choice and you will be back in time for dinner tomorrow."

"Of course, Father. Thank you, Father. Good bye." Malik nodded to his Father and Lord Nosaka, and turned around calmly to beam at his sister the moment his back was to the two men. His sister however maintained a stoic face until they were well out of earshot.

"I can't believe it." Malik hissed, trying to keep his voice somewhat levelled. A day away from Father with only Rishid and Ishizu, it was almost too good to be true.

"I know," Ishizu smiled, sneaking a poke at Malik's ribs. "But you have to learn to keep a straight face."

"Yes, miss." Malik's grin widened when he saw Rishid solemnly waiting for them at the entrance hall with the Nosaka's butler. It was going to be the best day ever.

* * *

*Chuckles nervously* yeah it was only meant to be a few small edits and two POVs snipped off (that should never have been there in the first place - those two were the roots of many of my problems further down the line), but I got a little carried away. Of course.

**Next chapter:** Ryou gets a new and very strange Master. Seto is visited by a mysterious man with mysterious things to say. Bakura does some crazy stuff.


	3. Chapter 3

**Beta: **This wouldn't exist without the hard work of my wonderful beta-reader,** Tucker's Mayflower**!

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! and I make no profit out of this work of fanfiction. It is just a fun waste of my time and energy (the best kind!).

**WARNINGS: None really. Mention of death.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

The 'important port' was at least ten times smaller than the Vatican one, or Puerto Vallarta which was the closest Terragozite port to the Vatican. The buildings were all wooden, no taller than two storeys. The streets, even the main ones, were dirty, and there was uncollected horse shit more often than was pleasant. The stench was perhaps the worst. As important as it was supposed to be, its main income came obviously from fishing which, along with the horse shit stench and other questionable substances, made for a putrid combination. It didn't help that Malik saw one woman throw a bucket of slop out of a second storey window into the general direction of a drain, missing it completely and, only by miracle, missing the heads of passers-by.

It was clearly an old town and Malik suspected that it lacked a Roman sewage system, by the the sight of open drains on the side of one street, which made the thought of the grime underfoot that extra bit more unpleasant.

But on this day, the filth of the town was only a minor inconvenience because Malik was free to roam with his sister and half-brother.

They arrived well after noon, so most stores were closed, but the merchants from abroad were still attracting a sizable crowd, hoping to make as much profit as possible before the curfew bell rang.

The townspeople thankfully gave Malik, Ishizu, and Rishid a wide berth, most likely due to their unusual appearance. Yet Malik was enjoying his freedom too much to care about their suspicious stares. He imagined himself as a Merchant Lord in their eyes surveying the progress of business, free to travel the world in pursue of the best prices and the most exotic goods. Necklaces of coloured clay, salt, intricately carved vases, sets of painted china, and birds of paradise with less than pleasant voices. But what drew him were the Southern merchants. They called out their prices and goods with heavy accents and rough practiced voices, and they talked among themselves in rapid Arabic.

It had been six years since he had set foot in the Western continent at only ten. Since then Father had forbidden the use of Arabic so inevitably, no matter how much he tried to remember by repeating old prayers and the names of his mother's Gods, Malik had all but forgotten the language. He knew some words and sentences, and he understood the gist of things, but he couldn't even begin to form the words himself, save for the prayers.

His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it. They could eat at the inn, and now they only had a couple of hours before curfew.

They moved away from the activity of the docks and walked along a stretch of rocky beach, enjoying the relative calm, with the distant chorus of the market behind them.

Rishid was the solid presence beside him he had always been. If it were not for him Malik wasn't sure how he would have survived his years at the Vatican University. It was painful to think that he would have to return to it next year without him.

He looked at his sister on the other side, catching her eye with a smile. He hooked their arms together and fell into step with her. Ishizu smiled warmly at him. The first year away from her had been tough and Malik was worried that he had grown used to being separated from her.

They walked like this in silence watching the sun languidly make its descent. Until Rishid spoke, "Master, Malik?"

Malik turned to Rishid with a frown. "You don't need to call me that now; no will hear you."

Rishid smiled and nodded. "I just wanted to draw your attention to the time. We should start heading to the auction."

"You're right," Ishizu said softly, turning them around. "We only have two hours left and I'm sure you don't want to get stuck with a bad page."

"Do you remember where that man said it was?" Malik asked.

"I have good memory, Malik." Rishid said, tapping his temple.

"Unlike you, Malik," Ishizu said poking him lightly on the ribs.

Malik swatted her hand away, and glanced once more at the orange sun.

It was autumn so the sun was unfortunately setting sooner and so the curfew was also sooner. After sundown, everyone was to return to their homes, stores would close and no-one would be admitted into any inn.

The moment they entered the building, Malik realized it was normally a modest theatre. They were lead to a stage room by an usher where the crowd was significantly better dressed. Only about half the seats were filled, and the auction had already started.

"Here you will find the better slaves." Rishid assured him as they chose the closest seats they could find to the front, which were a good four rows away from the stage. A middle aged man with too many rings on his fingers stared at Ishizu a little longer than Malik was comfortable with as she sat down beside him.

"Do you want to change seats?" Malik whispered to her.

Ishizu shook her head and patted his hand.

The man was looking back at the stage, but Malik continued to glare at him until Ishizu playfully turned his head to face the stage with a finger on his cheek. "Pay more attention to the slaves, dear brother."

As far as Malik understood, it was illegal to enslave Westerners, an amendment put in place two centuries ago by the papacy. So it was foreigners who were on display on the elevated stage, and this group was all Southerners.

The bidding began. They had paid for good rooms at the inn and stable space for their horses as well as a secure space for their carriage. They still needed money to pay for their food and any emergency. That left them roughly with fifty silver pieces to spare. It was a hefty sum that in the open market would get him as many as twenty slaves. Here it seemed it would only get him two or three.

"Sold! For thirty-five silver pieces to the gentleman in the red hat!" the auctioneer called, slapping his hand with his rolled up cap.

There was an unenthusiastic round of applause and all the slaves were ushered off the stage.

Malik scanned the next slaves to step onto the stage, and listened carefully as the auctioneer explained their skills and flaws. They were all of good quality, well trained and easy on the eyes, but none of them stood out for Malik, so he waited for the next. And the next. And with less enthusiasm, the next batch. As the evening wore on, Malik slumped down in his seat, elbow on armrest with his cheek squashed into his palm. He knew Rishid and Ishizu were growing restless by his silence, but none of the slaves were right. Group after group climbed onto the stage and they had all begun to look the same. Dark skin, blonde or black hair, occasionally a red head.

Ishizu leaned close to him and whispered, "How about the one to the far left?"

Malik knew which one she meant and answered without paying the kid a glance, "He looks like a kicked puppy," he grumbled. And he didn't want one that looked _younger_ than him.

"Well, there's only a couple groups left before the intermission, brother," Ishizu insisted. "So you will need to choose soon." It had also gotten warmer and Malik saw even from this distance that the auctioneer was sweating.

Malik knew Ishizu was right, so he sat up when the slaves walked off the stage and disappeared from sight. The next group was called and the first slave to step onto the stage was a blonde Southerner with a lean build and a confident stride. He was perhaps two years Malik's senior and had a good-natured face. Malik was about to point him out to his sister when the last slave stepped onto the stage.

"And tonight we have four special slaves!" the auctioneer called, his enthusiasm seemed unstoppable. "These four are slaves of pleasure trained in the Far East!" he gestured to them emphatically. "Number fourty-nine," he motioned to the only Southerner in the group, "was taken there at a young age, chosen for his beauty and grace! He is a fantastic musician, avid dancer and great singer! Sporting excellent health and envious proportions, he is well placed in this category!" The murmuring was now much more excited and louder, but Malik only had eyes for the last one.

The slave had been dressed in Eastern white clothes, and his hair, elegantly falling upon his shoulders, was pure white. His skin in the candle light looked equally pale so that his dark eyes stood out starkly. Malik's mind was made up.

The bidding began with the Southerner and rose to eighty silver pieces. All the while Malik observed the white slave, inching forward in his seat in an unconscious desire to get a closer look. He appeared almost regal yet undeniably humble, his foreign face warm and welcoming. Malik imagined it was a face one could hold a long and comfortable conversation with. He was also strange, he stood out, he was special, different, and Malik liked that.

His siblings noticed his interest of course and Ishizu leaned over to whisper in his ear, "You cannot purchase one of these. We'll wait until after the intermission."

"I've made up my mind," Malik whispered back.

Ishizu frowned, "Malik, Father –"

Malik moved away as the auctioneer finally began describing the white one's attributes.

"Number fifty-two, the last of the Eastern pleasure slaves is a master musician with talented fingers. He even once served in the Forbidden City of the Scorpion Emperor!" The auctioneer gestured to him emphatically. "He is nearing sixteen years of age and sports excellent health! Perfectly docile and well mannered, he knows his Spanish and his looks are only rivalled by our last three slaves! His only flaw is that he had once attempted an escape and he bears the scars on his back to prove it, but that was a year ago and he hadn't attempted such foolishness since!" He turned to his audience fully. "Shall we start the bidding?!"

Malik was about to raise his hand to place a bid, but Ishizu stopped him. "If you are going to bid for him you will do it right." She hissed sternly and Malik swallowed his excitement. She was right.

A man in the front row placed the first bid at twenty silver pieces. Nobody else seemed overly eager so Ishizu allowed Malik to stand and call for thirty silver pieces.

"Thirty silver pieces!" the auctioneer repeated. "Will anyone top that? Yes good, sir? Forty! Forty silver pieces!"

Malik bit the inside of his cheek and turned in his seat to see who had bidden against him, but Ishizu grabbed his arm discretely but firmly and stopped him. Instead he rose and called, "Fifty silver pieces!"

"Sixty!"

This time Malik turned around and caught sight of the culprit. He almost gasped when he saw that the man also had white hair, though his skin was as dark as a Southerner's. He wasn't sitting but leaning against the wall at the very back. He caught Malik's eye and gave him a wide smirk that stretched the ugly scar sprawled on his right cheek.

"Sixty silver pieces!" the auctioneer called. "Will anyone top sixty silver pieces?!"

Malik scowled at the white haired bastard and turned back to the auctioneer. "Sixty five!"

He turned back around to dare the bastard to bid further – but he was gone!

Malik glanced around in shock, but Ishizu tugged at his sleeve and he reluctantly sat down. Where had he gone?

"And sold! To the young gentleman in the purple coat!" the auctioneer cried and Malik grinned. He scanned the room one last time to make sure the bastard had truly disappeared.

"Well done, Master Malik," said Rishid, turning to him with a smile.

"Sixty-five silver pieces!" Ishizu sighed mournfully. "We will go hungry."

"Rishid, you didn't see a white haired man with a scar did you?" Malik asked.

"No," Rishid looked around quickly, but nothing caught his eye. "Is something troubling you?" He asked, his voice lowered in concern.

"Nothing," Malik muttered and turned his attention back to the stage. The white slave – _his _white slave, was gone and now a stocky little midget was in his place. The entertainment bid was underway. "Can we go now?" Malik asked, anxious to see his slave and leave the stifling theatre room.

"It would be polite to wait for the intermission, you do realize." Ishizu chastised him lightly.

"We've all had a long day; perhaps we can go down to the collection room now." Rishid said. "I too would like to retire to our rooms."

Ishizu conceded and they got up, careful not to disturb the audience and left the theatre room. At the antechamber an usher directed them to the collection room.

It was a small wooden chamber, sparsely furnished with a few seats and surfaces. A middle-aged balding man with two guards, the record keeper**,** was seated behind a large desk, papers, quill and ink at hand. "Number?" He rumbled as they approached him.

"Fifty-two," Malik stated.

"Fifty-two is ready for inspection, sir. You may see him now, but I will only have the records ready after the intermission. Kindly wait ten or fifteen minutes before returning to pay."

Malik nodded and a guard directed them to the door that led to an even smaller room. "Number fifty-two!" The guard called to another who bid them to take a seat and disappeared through another door.

Alone, Ishizu gave Malik a look and shook her head. "Why him? I thought you wanted an Al'Minyan."

"I liked him, he felt right," Malik said. "What other reason do I need? It's not like I had that much of a choice."

Ishizu shook her head and smiled at Malik. "You understand we can't tell Father what kind of slave he is or that he attempted escape before, right? And you had better like him, because I won't stand for you complaining…" She trailed off when the door opened and the guard entered with the slave.

Seeing him so close Malik was even happier with his decision.

-o-

Ryou had been in quite a variety of situations and served very different masters in his short life. This was the strangest situation he had yet faced, excluding perhaps being sold to a brothel and his first sea voyage. He was not only in a foreign land when he had never set foot outside the Empire before, but his new Master was a dark-skinned _boy_. A child of around his own age. What a child could possibly want with a slave was beyond him.

The previous night had been pleasant enough. His Master and the others spoke clearly so he hadn't misunderstood anything and they made no comment on his accent, although he did have to remind his Master several times of his name. His Master seemed very close to his sister and the other one, Rishid-san, yet they didn't often speak with each other and when they did it seemed somewhat restrained.

The previous night he had shared an inn room with Rishid-san who explained to him the basic rules. Always refer to the Master as Master and the rest as befits their position, which he promised to later clarify. In the presence of the Master, his family and other nobles, ones in colourful clothes, speak only when spoken to. And finally obey the Master. But the last rule, Rishid-san had added with a slight curving of his otherwise solemn lips, was not to be taken too strictly, as sometimes Malik-sama simply didn't know what was best for him.

Seeing the large stone structure looming up down the road and the flat garden sprawled out before it, Ryou knew that all the new things he had seen and experienced so far were just the beginning. His stomach tightened painfully as his eyes fell on unrecognizable shapes. Even the plants bore no familiarity and they had been cut and arranged in such a way as to seem inanimate.

"Remember."

Ryou almost jumped when Rishid-san suddenly spoke.

"Remember not to say anything to Malik's father about your attempted escape or your status as 'pleasure slave'."

Ah yes. He had almost forgotten the strangest of Rishid-san's rules. "Yes, sir."

The gate was opened to them by two guards and Ryou suddenly realized this was a noble house. It had a wall, as strange and frail as it looked, and guards. It had a garden, no matter how weird, and the large house itself where the nobles lived, though it looked like a great big block. Ryou glanced around and recognized gardeners and stables. Perhaps it wouldn't be too different.

The carriage stopped in front of the great house and Rishid-san told him to wait while he opened the carriage door for Malik-sama and Ishizu-sama. The two walked up the steps to the front door where an elderly man in black waited for them. Malik-sama glanced back at Ryou, before he and his sister were ushered inside by the man.

Rishid-san climbed back on beside him and flicked the reins to get the beasts moving. "You will take a bath now and I will give you a tour or the Manor, just so you know the basics. If you find any problems you need only ask for me and I will assist you. The other servants, especially the Westerners, may not be as patient. The Ishtars don't live here, but at Court, and Malik spends most of the year at the Vatican University. Do you know what the Vatican is?"

"No, sir," said Ryou.

"The Vatican is located on an island, South East from this country, Terragoza, and South West from Vielkopolska. You would have passed it to arrive at Puerto Madera, but you probably didn't see it." Rishid-san drove the carriage to the side of the stables where several men in black clothes appeared. He got down and said a few things to the men, then helped Ryou climb down from the high bench and led him away.

As they walked, Rishid-san continued his exposition. "As I was saying, the Vatican is also the centre of the Western religion, Romanism, and the centre of science and knowledge. All the Lords sons are required to attend classes there at their University," Rishid-san said.

They went around the back of the building and approached a small door. Rishid-san opened it and Ryou knew straight away that it led into a kitchen. A sudden sadness seize him. In all his years of service, Ryou had only ever entered the kitchens of a large household on two occasions. Both had been _her_ doing… The familiar lump formed in his throat before Ryou had the presence of mind to steer away from such thoughts. He couldn't remember her now, not while he was in service.

His feelings under control, he followed Rishid-san and took careful note of the rooms they passed and the corridors they used to get to the bath room. It was a small tiled room filled with several wooden bath tubs and stands on which were towels and bars of what had to be soap. The air was heavy with moisture and the floors were slippery. Three dark-skinned men were using three tubs in a corner, chatting loudly in a language Ryou didn't recognize, pausing only a moment to acknowledge Rishid-san and himself.

"This bathtub has been prepared for you," said Rishid-san and directed his attention to an unoccupied bathtub filled with water. "I will return with a suitable change of clothes for you. Will you be alright by yourself here?"

"Yes, sir," Ryou said.

"Here is the soap and towel," Rishid pointed to the items on the stand beside his tub. "I will only take a moment."

Ryou watched him leave before undressing with practiced ease. He toed off his slippers and set down the white kimono he had been dressed in for the auction. Of course, it wasn't a real kimono, the cut wasn't right, and having had served a Japanese Master, his last one, he had learned not only how to don the male kimono but also the female one.

He slipped into the water which was just warm enough not to make him shiver and set to work applying the large bar of soap to his skin. Behind him he heard the three men move, all the while talking animatedly, and the rustle of fabric. He turned slightly to peer at the way they put on their clothing, the layers and the strange knots around their necks. They even bent down to wrestle their shoes shut with string.

Rishid returned and Ryou got up to dry himself immediately.

"These should fit you for now," he said and placed the black and white clothes on top of his white kimono. "The butler will order clothes to be tailored for you, so I will take your measurements before."

"Yes, sir."

After Rishid-san assisted Ryou in getting dressed and brushing his hair he lead him down the maze of corridors and rooms, all the while explaining the rituals of the day, the correct behaviour at each time and situation and which rooms were out of bounds. Ryou tried hard to pay attention and ignore how uncomfortably restricting and scratchy the strange clothes were. Unconsciously he lifted his hand again to pull at the knot around his neck before he realized he was doing it and promptly lowered his hand. It didn't help that his hair was creating a wet patch against the back of his neck and shoulders.

"Now I will take you to see Malik so that he can show you to his father, Lord Ishtar," Rishid-san explained. "You are now Master Malik's page. You will assist him in everyday tasks and will go with him everywhere he goes except to lunches and dinners. You will eat breakfast before sunrise and bring Malik his breakfast as the sun rises. You will eat with the other slaves and servants in the Servants' Hall."

"Yes, sir."

"I will be with you for now until Lord Ishtar says otherwise," Rishid-san added, then turned his attention to the door and knocked before opening it. "Master Malik, Ryou is ready."

Ryou followed Rishid-san into a large room. It looked like the others in that it seemed saturated with plush furniture, frills and small intricate shapes in one general cream colour scheme edged with gold and polished wood. But this room also had two extra structures, one large and one smaller, at each corner which Ryou recognized as beds due to their similarity to the bed he had slept in at the inn. But the one to his left was monstrous in size and shape, with four columns and a roof to which curtains were attached.

Malik-sama was standing beside the window directly in front of them, a tall thin opening with transparent glass. Ryou had to concentrate his eyes on Malik-sama so as not to allow them to wander around the peculiar shapes that held no meaning for him. Malik-sama, on the other hand, was easy to read. He was clearly upset about something and was avoiding Rishid-san, who walked up to him immediately. "Is something wrong, Master?"

"Don't –" Malik-sama stopped himself, glancing at Ryou. "I'm fine."

"Is it Miss Miho Nosaka?"

"Of course it is her," Malik-sama snapped, but he was again looking away from Rishid-san. "Father wants me to spend time with her tomorrow. Go to town, entertain her."

Ryou listened carefully though he looked away, noting the contempt in his Master's words.

"Well, now you must show Ryou to your Father and prepare for dinner."

"She'll be there," Malik-sama groaned.

Rishid-san surprised Ryou by taking hold of Malik's arm and turning him to face him. "This is not the end of the world, Master Malik," he said softly, but firmly. "You will speak with her and try to find common ground. You will seek to entertain yourself as much as her. You needn't be so adamant against her. She is a pretty girl, she knows her letters and poetry, and she can dance and sing like few. Do not hate her before you know her."

Malik-sama looked up at Rishid-san angrily and snatched away his arm. "_You_ don't have to marry the cow!" He hissed. Then he looked away again and his eyes found Ryou. "I'll take Ryou to see father now."

And he stormed out of the room without so much as a word or a backward glance. Ryou looked at Rishid who urged him to follow, and went after his Master.

The last thing he wanted to deal with was an angry Master, but Malik-sama seemed to cool down quickly enough. He asked a passing woman in black and white clothing for the whereabouts of his father, before continuing on his way. Ryou meanwhile took note of the ridiculously tall ceiling and the random stands with vases and flowers set along the corridors they passed. He also began to notice imperfections; a small crack in the plaster, a stain on the floor, a cobweb in a corner.

Then they reached Malik's father. The walls were made up of shelves and books and he was seated in the centre behind an ornate wooden desk with legs carved into claws. Lord Ishtar-sama didn't look up from his papers until he was done writing in his own time. He then sat back, set whatever he was working on aside and looked up at them. He was a middle-aged man with a hard face. His hair was greying, but far from making him look feeble, it added to his general severity. His eyes focused on him from beneath his eyebrows. "This is your new page?"

"Yes, Father," Malik-sama said stiffly.

"And you thought it wise to purchase an Easterner?" The man asked in that same gravelly tone. Ryou wasn't sure if he was trying to be intimidating or if it was something he had grown accustomed to do. "Easterners are the most disloyal and unpredictable of slaves. Their heathen beliefs lead them to think their race is superior."

Ryou felt the colour rise to his face, but he kept still. The words weren't directed at him, the man's attention was focused solely on his son.

"Sooner or later they all either try to escape their Western Masters or kill them in their sleep. That is why Easterners are imported in far fewer numbers and kept separately under closer guard. To have one sleep with you in the same room would be… foolish." He stood up. "I must go prepare for dinner. Miss Miho will be joining us so I hope you make the correct preparations. As for your ill chosen slave… I will put you in full charge for his actions and his keeping. If he escapes I will see to it that he is killed and you are appropriately punished. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Father," said Malik-sama.

"Dismissed."

Malik-sama slipped out of the room quickly and Ryou followed at a more appropriate pace. Ryou's mind was full of the man's words. It wasn't in his place to hate one above him, but that man was infuriating. Ryou swallowed his pride, whatever was left of it.

Back in Malik-sama's room, Malik-sama had begun to change his clothes and Ryou watched, taking note of how he undid them and fastened on the new ones. He got up and held the jacket for him when Malik failed to find the sleeve quickly, then did up his buttons as he had seen the men from the bathroom do.

Malik-sama sighed once they finished. "Now I'll go meet the cow," he grumbled. "I'll see you afterwards here."

"Enjoy your dinner, Master," Ryou offered with a carefully placed smile.

One corner of Malik's mouth curled up before he turned away and opened the door. "I doubt it," he added and left.

Ryou looked at the simpler bed in the room. He was indeed to sleep in the same room as Malik. That was new. He walked over to it and touched the cover, pulling it back a little to reveal the layers. He sat down upon it and was surprised by the softness. He then peeked under it with his head between his shins at the dark empty space below.

The door opened and Ryou snapped up to attention to see Rishid-san walk in. "Inspecting your bed?" The man asked good-naturedly.

"It is different." Ryou said softly, standing up.

"Come, dinner is ready and you need measuring."

The measuring was simple enough, but the dinner was a noisy affair. All the slaves and servants shared one long table in the bowels of the large house. The loudest were the Southerners. The Westerners, at the other end of the table, watched them with disgust, and everyone was interested in Ryou. Where had he come from? What could he do? What was his price? How many Masters had he served? Rishid-san did his best to bat away the questions and after a while they gave up and accepted the evasive answers Ryou gave them. He found it annoying that slaves here didn't keep to the code respected in the East: that only the Master knew a slave's past. Speaking about it aloud made him somewhat uncomfortable.

So he was glad when Rishid-san dropped him off at Malik's room to await his Master with a bowl of hot water and a fresh towel. He was also thankful for the silence at first. Then his mind began to wander and realization dawned on him that he was miles and miles away from everything he knew. Again a lump formed in his throat. He was the only Easterner in this big block of a house. It was all different, strange, foreign. The walls had no pictures of ancient legends, the furniture was oddly lumpy, the windows were see-through, cold and bizarrely shaped. The sun had long set and the spidery shadows behind the candle light only accentuated the alien forms.

His bout of self-pity was cut short when something caught his eye: a face. He snapped his attention to where he saw it – the window – but there was nothing there. He walked over to it and saw only his own face lightly reflected against the darkening world beyond. He gazed at the vista and his insides sank another fraction.

The sky was the same, starkly red and orange outlines against the clouds. The ground was another matter. He rested his forehead against the cold surface and his breath misted the glass. What was taking his Master so long?

He heard footsteps and sprung away from the glass, quickly righting himself and turning to the door. Sure enough it opened and Malik-sama practically fell through it. Ryou was beginning to think that was his usual conduct when entering or leaving a room. He always seemed in a hurry.

"She wasn't there," Malik-sama said, barely keeping down a grin. "We had to wait at least two hours before it became obvious she wasn't turning up; the food got cold. Lord Nosaka is worried, but I hope she takes at least another day to get here." He walked over to his dresser and began tugging roughly at his clothes as he had done previously. "I want to go to town with Ishizu and Rishid before I have to start devoting my time to her."

Ryou walked over and held his jacket for Malik-sama to slip out of, then slung it over one arm and waited to be handed the rest of the clothes. It only then occurred to him that he didn't know what to do with them. There was no kimono rack.

"Perhaps we could even make it back to Puerto Madera for the festival… but I don't know if it would be worth it. It's a stinking fishing town." Malik-sama began to pull his shirt over his head then froze.

Ryou caught sight of black markings at the base of his back, just visible beneath his shirt, before Malik tugged it back down. Ryou looked up at his face, but Malik was still turned away from him and appeared flustered. He cleared his throat then spotted the basin and jug of water and walked purposefully over it.

Ryou observed him closely as he rinsed his face and towelled it dry. He silently debated whether or not to make an inquiry, but decided to hold his tongue. He had a feeling that this Master would appreciate discretion.

-o-

Bakura couldn't remember the last time he had found something interesting enough to pursue. He wasn't quite sure how it happened, but one chance encounter led to another and now he was following the white haired Easterner around the house of his new master. The previous day, he had followed their carriage out of Puerto Madera and to a Manor where he spent the day trying to catch glimpses of the boy from outside.

Five hundred years of glancing over their shoulders in fear of finding yet another Sai-a'nekh assassin, rogue opportunist, or the Strigoi army made a relatively carefree day of following a mortal a treat. Yami wasn't around to reprimand his reckless behaviour or to force them to leave town after the Sai-a'neck attack. If he had found out the reckless behaviour was due to a mortal, well, it would have landed Bakura in a world of trouble.

Every new thing he found had to be 'approved' by his Blood Brothers and after the incident of sixty years ago they were not likely to approve the kidnapping of a mortal. If Marik knew he was yet again heading out to the Manor to catch glimpses of the fascinating boy he would likely go into one of his rages. So Bakura made sure to keep it secret and make up appropriate excuses for his absences.

To be fair, he didn't encounter any signs of vampires and was certain that their encounter at the port town had been a fluke. Most vampires, if not all, knew who they were and what they looked like. Most in Neter-Khertet would have grown up knowing and hating the names of Yami, Bakura and Marik. They could have found him by chance and acted upon opportunity. It wouldn't be the first time.

So instead, Bakura sought out entertainment. With a care he hadn't bothered to show for many centuries, he ensured to leave no tracks, to tie his horse well out of sight among the trees, and steal into the Manor. There he climbed the walls, the roof, and slipped into empty rooms and every dark corner as he shadowed the boy. He often lost sight when the kid moved into too-crowded areas, and had to find another way around and make attempts at predicting where his next appearance would be. Diabound was all too willing to lend a hand.

He, like Bakura, enjoyed observing the Easterner. The boy was graceful in all his movements, as if he were always floating, elevated above the rest, yet humble, head slightly bowed eyes lowered, in a way Bakura had never seen before. He had been around plenty of mortals, had owned many slaves. He had even, in his wildest escapades, attempted to live among them as one. None of them had what this one had. Though Bakura couldn't name the elusive quality, he couldn't get enough of it.

He peaked out in time to see the boy's retreating back as he carried a jar of hot water, a basin and towel. Then he rounded a corner, Bakura caught a brief glimpse of the side of his face, and was once again gone.

Bakura retreated back into the bath chamber as two maids appeared around the same corner, chatting animatedly.

He heard more voices approaching and sprung up into a corner, back against the ceiling, pinning himself up with one hand on each wall and wedged his feet in the crack beneath him. Two men entered with buckets and mops, and set about cleaning the room.

Seeing that they would be there a while, and discovery was more than likely, Bakura took his chance the moment their backs were fully turned. He hopped down lightly and darted out the door. He wanted one last glance at Ryou before leaving, so he urged Diabound to seek him out as he fled down the corridor. He skidded to a stop and jumped into another room, a servant's dining room, when Diabound warned him of approaching mortals. He waited them out then went back out with the guidance of his Ka.

To his luck he soon found him. Bakura hid in a room and waited as he heard the footsteps of the boy and his master pass by. He carefully inched out so he saw the boy, walking so gracefully behind his master, some rich Southerner's son in Terragozite clothing, a curiosity in itself. He was moving away, but he was still so close. If Bakura stepped out he could reach him in a few strides. Could he get away with it? Just a touch? Surely he could get away before anyone noticed…

Suddenly the boy stopped and turned – Bakura ducked back, heart hammering, wondering if the boy had caught sight of him.

"Ryou?" The lordling questioned.

"Nothing, Master."

So his name was Ryou. What a strange name, what an exotic name to go with an exotic face. Bakura grinned as he heard their retreating footsteps and silently mouthed the name to himself. Ryou the white mortal boy.

-o-

The girl died.

The funeral service was carried out by Father Roland. It was a simple ceremony as befit a peasant, and the day had been beautiful and surprisingly warm despite it being the beginning of autumn.

Seto had avoided the girl's family; nothing he could say would help the matter. It hadn't been vampires, but that remained the general rumour. Father Tristan, ever the eager young cadet, offered to examine her after a week. He, like the rest of the village, was still intent on catching a vampire.

The following morning a raven brought a message from the Monastery. Seto, Roland and Tristan were to return by the end of the week. At Seto's inquiry Roland insisted he hadn't sent a bad report, that he hadn't even had time to write one up yet. That left Seto wondering whether their superiors were recalling him as pre-emption or some other reason.

The Knight returned in the afternoon and was promptly informed of their leaving. He invited the clergy for dinner at his Manor House as a form of farewell. So it was that Seto found himself at the other end of a ridiculously long table with Roland and Tristan, sharing a meal with the Knight and his family, who were at the opposite end. It made for dreary conversation. Not that he participated. He busied himself pushing food around his plate as Tristan attempted to make himself heard without raising his voice too high.

"Yes, very good apple harvest," the Lord was saying. "And we haven't lost a single calf this year. Seems we've seen the last of the wild dogs."

"They can be a big problem," Tristan said obligingly and gave Seto the 'don't make me do all the talking' look with a pinch of desperation.

Seto returned a cool look.

Tristan gave him a momentary glare. "Father Seto had problems with wild dogs, haven't you, Seto?" he said smugly.

"No," Seto replied, not braking eye-contact.

Tristan twitched, but the Knight was already speaking. "I haven't heard of anyone who hasn't."

Seto returned his attention to his food. The month he had spent at the Manor was an absolute waste of time. In fact the last ten years had been a complete waste of time. He hadn't found even the faintest trace of her killers and had spent the time being sent to different Manors by the church and hunting down small fry. Well, he had found one peculiar vampire that had eluded all his traps and had behaved very oddly. In five years he had only come close to catching him a handful of times, until his last disappearing act six weeks ago.

"Do you grow soya at the Monastery?" The Knight asked.

"No, but we do grow practically everything else. We actually sell herbs at Toledo, it helps accrue some extra income to buy meat. The Archslayer told the Bishop that we ought to purchase some cows, but nobody is quite certain if its right to have monks tend to crops _and _animals when they should be – Seto?"

Seto couldn't take it anymore. He had pushed his chair back and stood up. "Forgive me, Ser, Madam." He nodded to the Knight, his wife and his two sons, who stared at him in surprise. "I do not feel well." He spared a glance at Tristan and Roland and wasn't surprised to see they were both frowning.

Then he walked out of the dining room. A servant who was passing by asked him if he needed anything, but Seto politely refused any aid. He escaped to the courtyard where the last rays of the sun bathed the tiled roofs a fiery orange and the cool evening air brushed his face.

He crossed the yard and entered the stables to pick up one of the horse's blankets. He left and walked around the back where the dog kennels were situated. The hound master had retired for the evening and all the beasts were locked up in their joined pens – except for one who was hidden in a makeshift shelter, his rope tied to a tree.

Seto hadn't been happy about the Knight's attitude towards dogs. The man enjoyed hunting and announced himself a horse-enthusiast, but he went about his relations to his beasts the way one does about their clothes or tools. Every animal had its place and purpose. Seto had been expected to conform to this.

As he approached, Joey poked out his yellow head, eyeing him curiously. Seto went over to him, knelt down on one knee and set about untying him. "We're going for a walk," he informed the dog.

They set out towards the forest where the Knight enjoyed his hunting, away from the village and the graveyard. Seto didn't want to talk, or think, or anything at that moment. When had his life become so petty? When had the urgency of revenge left him? When had he forgotten about her?

He hadn't accomplished anything in his extended lifetime. Perhaps it would have been better to have died alongside her for all the good his life did. He couldn't even save one peasant girl.

Joey walked into his path and sat down.

"What?" Seto snapped.

Joey's gaze was steady and challenging.

Seto looked away at the trees surrounding them. They were deep enough in the forest, surely safe from discovery, so Seto tossed the blanket onto Joey and turned his back to him. He heard the cloth shifting and was surprised to hear foot falls moving away. He turned back around to see the blanket discarded and Joey's lupine form disappear into the dense pines.

Seto made to call out, but somehow felt that wouldn't be prudent. Instead he followed Joey's form as he weaved through the forest. He couldn't understand what Joey was playing at. He almost tripped on an exposed root and his patience ran out. He looked up at Joey and opened his mouth to call out when a growl rolled out.

Joey had stopped, his head was lowered and his hackles were raised as he growled. Seto looked up beyond him, but didn't immediately see anything, so he stepped forward, hand falling instinctively on the butt of his military issue revolver.

When he was almost beside Joey he saw it, a strange white figure beyond the trees.

The figure approached them and Joey's growling became louder, his ears flattening. Surprised by his reaction, Seto tore his eyes away from him to see the approaching stranger – a vampire? Now that he was closer he could see that he was wearing white robes, cloak and turban, his skin Southern dark and his earlobes perforated by large golden rings. A stranger person this far north would have been hard to imagine. But what mesmerized Seto were his eyes: coloured a deep dark blue that seemed almost luminescent.

When he was three meters away, Joey shrank back, his growl turned into a high-pitched whine, but thankfully the stranger stopped.

"Greetings, priest," the man said in a monotone.

Seto frowned to show he did not trust him before returning the greeting.

"I have heard of your prowess with vampires," the man continued in the same monotone, "and I wish to inform you of the whereabouts of a dangerous vampire that has taken residence in an abandoned tower only a day or so away."

"What?" Seto said incredulously.

"I have been tracking him myself with my own hunters. But alas, they have fallen victim to the horror. I am the last and haven't the strength to continue."

Seto gave him a quick one-over. He looked perfectly healthy. "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you will, priest."

"I intend to," Seto said, glancing down at Joey who was just as tense as before.

"The tower is two kilometres or so away from the Lérez river, north east of here, though I'm sure your partner will have no problem finding it once he knows what he's looking for." He made to leave. "Until next we meet, Seto Kaiba."

"Wait a damn minute," Seto growled. "Who the Hell are you and why…" He had no idea what to say. Never before had a stranger unexpectedly given him such detailed information about a vampire.

"My name is Shadi," the man said, his face blank as ever. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"Why are you telling me this and _what_ are you?"

"You need a purpose, and I give purposes." There was not a hint of a joke. "Farewell." He turned around and began walking away.

"Wait a damn moment," Seto called and ran after him, but he was gone. He looked around and tried to find signs of his passage, broken twigs, crumpled needles, anything. But there was nothing. So he searched instead for traces magic. He was familiar with Holy Magic and witchcraft, but the forest showed no signs of tampering with the forces of the universe.

Seto jogged back to the small clearing and found Joey right where he left him, stock still and tail between his legs. "C'mon, mutt," Seto muttered and they walked back.

Roland was waiting beside the kennels, of course. "By the Seals, where were you?!" he cried exasperatedly.

"Taking a stroll," Seto said coldly, walking past. He noticed Joey was making his way to his shelter and he whistled to catch his attention. "Heel, Joey."

The dog cocked his head then bounded to his side.

"Where are you taking him?" Roland asked, his voice climbing to a higher pitch.

"To my room," Seto stated and he noticed Joey perk up.

"What?! The Knight clearly –"

"It's not up for debate, Roland."

Roland could take all his little rules and shove them up his ass then write to the Bishop all about the experience for all he cared. He had things to discuss with Joey.

* * *

**Next chapter:** Bakura's stalkage has consequences and Marik gets nasty ideas. Malik goes too far and Ryou gets too close.


	4. Chapter 4

**Beta: **This wouldn't exist without the hard work of my wonderful beta-reader,** Tucker's Mayflower**!

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! and I make no profit out of this work of fanfiction. It is just a fun waste of my time and energy (the best kind!).

**WARNINGS: Violence (People eating people), sexual stuff, swearing.**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_Limbs moved, muscles flexed, skin on skin. Ryou found his legs spread and his dick palmed. He closed his eyes and moaned appreciatively. His Master urged him to make more noise as he pumped him slowly and Ryou was more than willing to oblige._

_He opened his eyes, to look at his Master's face – it was Amane._

Ryou jerked. He made another start at his foreign surroundings. He propped himself on his shoulders and everything came back to him. He also noticed he had an erection.

He glanced at the large curtained bed and couldn't decipher if his current Master was awake or asleep. He noticed the old towel from the night before that he and Malik-sama had used to dry their faces. It would have to do.

Carefully he pulled back the covers, shuddering at the unwanted stimulation the movement provided and got up. Quietly he retrieved the towel and returned to his bed. Such dreams were common enough among slaves of his kind, but to have to take care of the after-effects in presence of his Master was a little uncomfortable. Still, his erection showed no signs of diminishing so he set to work, biting the pillow to keep himself from making any noise.

Once it was done, he carefully folded the towel so as to leave no evidence and placed it back where he found it. He considered opening the window, realizing that the smell of his activity was likely present, so he went over to it and tried to work out how to open it. There was a hatch, but he couldn't turn it.

"Ryou?"

Ryou jumped and turned around to see Rishid-san half stepping into the room, hand on the doorknob.

"Get dressed and come outside, I'll take you to breakfast," Rishid-san whispered.

"Yes, sir," Ryou whispered back and Rishid-san closed the door. He got dressed as quickly as he could, though it took him three tries to get the pants on right and he didn't manage to tie up his shoelaces. Rishid-san did them for him and they went to breakfast. There weren't a lot of slaves and servants there at this time of the morning. Many had to wake up earlier to begin work at the kitchens, stables and cleaning of the Manor House.

By now everyone had gotten used to the slave from the East, some even took offence to his lack of enthusiasm in conversation, and left him alone. Ryou preferred it that way. Having been passed from Master to Master like a hot potato in the last year he couldn't be bothered forming good relations with his fellow slaves. It helped keep him concentrated on his Master.

Rishid-san however was an unavoidable acquaintance. The man insisted on personally showing Ryou the ropes at every stage. Occasionally he even attempted to make small-talk with him.

"How are you feeling?" Rishid-san asked as he escorted him back to Malik-sama's room with his breakfast.

"Good, sir." Ryou said softly, eyes fixed in front of him. He had learned the routes, but Rishid-san still insisted on escorting him.

"How is Malik treating you?"

Ryou looked at him in surprise at his question. Was that some form of trick? Ryou remembered the oddly close relationship between his Master and Rishid-san and everything fell into place. Rishid-san was testing him. "Master Malik can do nothing to upset or make this one fail at duty, sir." Ryou said deliberately.

Rishid-san must have noticed a change in tone because he glanced down at him, but Ryou had returned his gaze to the front. Had that been too mechanical? Too forced? Ryou wasn't willing to change Masters quite yet. Rishid-san could try all he liked to catch Ryou off guard, to have him reveal some flaw in his personality or disposition, but he wasn't going to find any. Ryou had, after all, served in the Forbidden City itself.

Ryou gave Rishid-san a curt farewell at Malik-sama's door, and entered. His Master was quiet as usual in the morning. He chewed on his food mechanically, brushed his hair with his eyes fixed at some invisible point, and washed his face. The cold water finally woke him. Though he remained silent Ryou noticed a change. He couldn't quite tell what it was, but Malik startled when Ryou helped dress him. It occurred to Ryou that Malik was finally acknowledging his presence and wasn't sure what to do about it.

Ryou gave him his farewell with a carefully placed smile as Malik-sama made his leave, mumbling something about his father and a chapel. Ryou decided that this one wasn't used to new slaves by the nervous smile he got in return. That could be a very good thing or a very bad thing. If Malik-sama liked him then he wouldn't be quick to part with him, but it might take him a while to get used to him and risk of being sold yet again was high for that reason.

Therefore Ryou had to put in extra effort into being liked. But how?

-o-

Morning light filtered through the stained glass windows in a pretty array of colours.

The prayers were unbearably dull. The Manor priest was an old man with grey hair and a short trimmed beard, who took too long to pronounce every word. He also took unexpected long pauses, even mid sentence, and Malik was sure he had often simply forgotten what he was saying.

A further discomfort was that most of the mass was spent kneeling down. No matter how soft the pillows, after half an hour in that same position his knees were aching unbearably. Of course, that was sort of the point. Self sacrifice and corporeal punishment was integral to Romanism.

Malik barely managed to contain a yawn, hiding his mouth in his tightly clasped hands. As the priest continued prattling on about the Sacrifice and the Three Seals, trying to find yet another way of praising their goodness and what-not, Malik tried to remember the legends of the Southern Gods – The beautiful Gods and Goddesses with animal heads and dark-skinned bodies who had enlivened the walls of the corridor to the temple. Their deeds, adventures, mischiefs and conflicts drawn for everyone who understood the symbols to know. His mother had known. She used to walk him down the seemingly endless corridor, pointing out each figure and recounting the stories to him. _"This is the history of our people." She explained gently. "Here is Ra, the father of the first Pharaoh. That is why each Pharaoh wears the Eye of Ra."_

"_Who is your father?" Malik asked in awe. _

"_The creator gods are our fathers. Amun, Khepri and Khumn."_

"_Khumn?" Malik asked sceptically. "But Khumn is bad."_

"_Bad?" His mother smiled in surprise. "Whatever made you think that?"_

_Malik lowered his voice to a hushed whisper, "Ishizu said he made the _bad ones_."_

"_Yes, but he also created the world along with Amun and Khepri, and it was love that caused –"_

Malik stood up hastily along with everyone else. He hadn't even realized that the priest had finished his sermon. His eyes darted to Father to make sure he hadn't noticed his lapse in concentration. Then he recited half-heartedly the final hymns of this colonialist religion, received the blessings, and left.

Ryou was waiting outside with Father's and Lord Gardener's pages. Ishizu touched Malik's elbow and gave him a meaningful look. Malik had almost forgotten. He went to Father and cleared his throat nervously. "Father?"

Father turned around slowly. "Yes, son?"

"I was wondering if I could visit the town today with Ishizu," Malik said.

"Only a day ago you came back from a little excursion," Father said, turned back around to face Khalid, his page. "I think that's quite enough."

"Don't worry yourself," Lord Nosaka walked over, cheerful as ever. "Miho will surely arrive by lunch time."

"Yes. You wouldn't want to miss her arrival, son."

Malik bobbed his head and said something along the 'I can't wait for her to get here' lines and quickly excused himself. He almost broke into a run the moment he left the hall. But before he made it too far, someone grabbed his arm.

"Calm down, Malik," Ishizu said.

It was then that he noticed his heart was racing and he was terribly hot. "I'm fine," he muttered. But he wasn't. He was furious. He tried to disentangle himself from her grip so he could burry himself in his bed and unleash his rage on his pillow, but she held on.

"No, you need to calm down," Ishizu said firmly.

Malik swallowed, took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. His heart still pounded against his ribs, but he no longer had the urge to punch anything.

"That's better," Ishizu smiled and eased her grip. "Come, I'll accompany you to your instructor."

Malik groaned. Father had employed a violin instructor and an etiquette tutor. He did it every holiday, since they were the only lessons that the Vatican University didn't provide.

"Hush," she said and led him down the corridor. "I wanted to speak to you actually; about Ryou."

"What about him?" Malik asked. Ryou had quickly learned his responsibilities and caused no problems whatsoever.

"Are you happy with him?"

Happy with him? Malik couldn't say he was unhappy, but Ryou was certainly not what he had had in mind for a page. Ryou had about as much personality as a lamp. Honestly, Malik was disappointed with Ryou, but he couldn't have made a mistake. "He's alright."

"He's a perfect slave," Ishizu said. "He will never give you trouble and Father will never complain about him. But I'm worried that you might not be happy with him. I know I said I would be cross if you changed your mind about liking him, but in the end it is you who will have to put up with him in the Vatican. Rishid won't be able to go with you this time. What I'm saying is –"

"That I should sell him and chose another?" Malik asked dryly.

"I'm not necessarily telling you to change pages," Ishizu said patiently. "I just want to let you know that my primary concern is your comfort and happiness. The last thing I want is for you to spend five months with a boy you do not like or trust."

"I get it," Malik snapped. "But I don't intend to swap pages. I chose Ryou and that's that."

"Alright," Ishizu said nodding. "If that's well understood, I think you might need to make an effort." They came to a stop at the door of the study hall. "It is clear you don't want a slave. You want a friend like Rishid. Perhaps if you make an effort to extend a hand of friendship, Ryou will rise to the occasion." She took his hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Besides, I trust you saw something genuinely good in him, that's why you wanted him." With a last smile, she left him to his classes.

Ryou was inside sitting in a chair at the back of the room. The violin case was already open and waiting on the table beside the stern-looking instructor. Malik snuck a smile at Ryou and his insides jumped when Ryou smiled back. He had a damn good smile.

"No dawdling, Malik," the instructor said impatiently. "Take up your instrument and demonstrate what you know."

Malik went to the table and snatched up the Western instrument. Father insisted that he learn civilized music and civilized manners. He shot the instructor a glare and shoved the butt of the violin under his chin. They loved throwing the word 'civilized' everywhere as if the South had no culture, as if his mother's culture was meaningless. Well, Western culture was meaningless to him.

He glanced at Ryou and found him watching with open interest. Malik didn't want to play for Father or this stuffy instructor, but he could play for Ryou. He raised the bow and sawed away into slow music.

The notes flowed out seamlessly as he performed one of the more difficult but also well-rehearsed pieces of Western music, by a Vielkopolskan compositor.

The instructor was, like they all were, surprised that a Southerner could play a Western instrument as well as he. The idiot even asked if his mother was Terragozite, but Malik managed to bite back a sharp retort.

After the lesson he and Ryou walked towards the patio where a table was arranged for an outdoor lunch. Although Ryou was his usual quiet self, Malik now felt his presence like a fire. Ishizu had made it sound so simple, but what could he possibly say to befriend Ryou? He had never made any friends before. Being the only Southerner student, he was an outcast at the Vatican University and a curiosity at Court. But he had never cared to make friends with Westerners. He had always had Rishid.

"With luck, Miss Miho will not arrive in time for lunch, Master."

Malik turned to Ryou in surprise and found him smiling at him. "Yeah," Malik said dumbly, lips curling. Ryou had never, _never_ spoken out of turn or so lightly before.

"Must go to the Servants' Hall," Ryou said stopping. "See you after lunch, Master."

"Yeah."

Ryou smiled and headed down the corridor before Malik had the presence of mind to say, "Enjoy your lunch!"

Ryou turned to give him another perfect smile, before disappearing around a bend.

Malik instantly felt stupid for his mono-syllabic responses. If only he had more practice at speaking to others. But it had been wonderful to hear Ryou talk so casually. He hadn't made a mistake.

With a grin, he pushed open the double black doors and stepped out into the sunlight. The table was set, the footmen waited in a quiet line and Ishizu was already beside her chair. She turned to smile at him. "How was the lesson?"

"I hate the new instructor," Malik whispered, though his heart wasn't really in it. He hadn't been paying much attention to the instructor. "What did you do?"

"I practiced my broidery of course." Ishizu said softly and rolled her eyes, though she was careful to ensure the servants didn't see. "Honestly Malik, sometimes I wish we could switch – Aren't the roses lovely?" she suddenly switched topics as the doors opened.

They turned around to greet Lord Nosaka and Father.

"I'm afraid Miho hasn't arrived yet. I'm sure she will soon," Lord Nosaka said apologetically. "Shall we begin?"

They were all helped into their seats by the footmen and the first dish was promptly laid before them. But before anyone had time to pick up their spoons, the doors opened abruptly and the old butler announced, "Miss Miho has arrived." He barely finished his sentence before said girl practically pushed past him.

"Daddy!" Miho said in exaggerated happiness that Malik immediately detested. No one had time to stand up politely before she was embracing her father. "Oh, you won't believe what happened!"

"Then tell us," Lord Nosaka said, beaming. "But please, sit down first, and enjoy your soup."

She sat down beside Malik and another plate of soup was brought for her, though she didn't pay any attention to it. "We were attacked!" She said breathlessly as a footman laid a napkin across her lap.

Malik noticed Father giving him a meaningful glare and put his spoon down to say something encouraging to her, but Lord Nosaka beat him to it. "What happened?"

"A dozen bandits came out of the tree-line, brandishing swords. It was so frightening."

"Did the guards do anything?" Lord Nosaka asked, his eyebrows lowering with concern.

"It all happened so fast, the coach even got cut. But then something amazing happened," she said, quietening in awe and resting a hand delicately over her heart. "A true miracle, daddy," she smiled. "A wolf appeared and scared them away."

Malik snorted with laughter.

He suddenly felt the eyes of everyone on him. Ishizu was giving him her frightened 'you've-just-stepped-out-of-line' look and Father was glaring at him darkly. "Do you have something to say, son?" he asked in a tone that clearly ordered him to fix it or endure pain.

Malik looked at Miho who was gazing at him curiously. Her pretty eyes wide and her eyebrows twisted comically. He imagined their wedding, standing before the King and Queen and hundreds of Westerners. He imagined exchanging rings and then having to kiss those cute puckering lips on that idiotic face.

"So this wolf _appeared_?" Malik asked in a cruel sneer. "A _wolf_? And then a unicorn clippity-clopped over and carried you away?"

There was a stunned silence.

Ishizu made a nervous giggle. "That's so funny, Malik. Wolves truly are magical animals, like unicorns. It must have been a miracle."

"Well, there hasn't been a wolf sighting in centuries," Lord Nosaka said uncertainly. "Perhaps it was a large dog."

"Perhaps," Miho said dejectedly. She looked down at her soup mournfully and Malik almost felt sorry for her. But at that moment, he was far more concerned with the look of pure hate he was receiving from Father.

-o-

It was the fifth time Marik found Bakura missing. He tore out of the Lair riding his beast hard towards the town. He'd be damned if Bakura were to spoil their cover. '_Find him!_' he practically screamed at his Ka, '_find the son-of-a-bitch!_' If Yami were still around Bakura wouldn't have been so bold. But then that was why he had left their short Blood Brother, wasn't it?

He yanked at his Ka when the creature refused to respond, and pushed it to the surface. '_Damn you, search for him! Find Bakura's trace!_' Marik tried to concentrate on remaining in his saddle _and_ forcing his rebellious Ka into action. '_NOW!_' The force of his will was strong enough to make the Ka surface sulkily. Because of their exile, because there was a large bounty on their Hearts that included a complete pardon, acceptance, and a rise in rank for anyone who caught or destroyed them, Marik, Bakura and Yami had to be very careful to remain out of sight. Their Lair was filled with spells of protection and hiding, but every time they passed through it to enter or leave the spells weakened. And Bakura was only adding to the damage by waltzing out whenever he pleased.

Marik's Ka pulled him around a fork in the road somewhat reluctantly, but Marik would deal with his Ka's unwillingness to cooperate later. They were supposed to leave only to feed. Last week's ambush was proof that they weren't doing a good enough job of hiding. By any logic they ought to pack up and leave before more bounty hunters turn up, but this time in greater numbers and with greater experience. Bakura acting up would only lead to danger.

He followed his Ka around the town and up another road, higher up on a hill, past a church. The beast was exhausted, its breath coming out in raspy pants and slowing down at the incline. It refused to continue to run, so Marik impatiently dismounted, leading the damned mortal into some trees, out of sight and notice of wandering mortals. He tied the reins to a firm branch, then left.

He stormed the rest of the way, goading his Ka on, to search for Bakura. He found himself looking at a Manor. He hadn't even noticed stepping into the Lord's territory. The forest he had left the horse in was part of it, and fields stretched out beyond. A small village was nestled in a shallow valley beyond. The Manor house itself was surrounded by a decadent garden, wide and intricate enough to keep a hundred gardeners busy all day. In the middle of it rose the Manor house grandly, a solid and powerful looking structure devoid of the gothic spires and details that characterized their Lair.

Caution told Marik to turn right around and go back home, but his Ka insisted that Bakura was there. Why on earth would Bakura mess with mortal gentry? A better question would be, why would he _risk_ messing with mortal gentry? Unlike other mortals, nobles were actually missed. If one so much as sneezed the entire continent found out about it. And although that may well be an exaggeration, the fact remained that nobles were far too risky a target for vampire curiosity. One mortal was nothing, two were harmless, three laughable, ten an annoyance, fifty were a serious concern, a hundred? A _thousand_? Even two and a half thousand year old Sai-a'nekh had their limits.

So getting Bakura out and putting his head on straight was now a matter of security. '_Find him_,' Marik thought to his Ka. '_But be careful._'

Perhaps out of interest at the change in routine, his Ka obeyed him to the letter, carefully guiding Marik around the maze of plant-life and crunching pebbled paths into the shadow of the mansion.

But caution, which had been drilled into his head for five hundred years, prevented him going any further. So he hid behind the hedges while his Ka searched for Bakura's whereabouts without actually leaving the confines of Marik's chest. He waited, knowing that Bakura would have to get out sooner or later, his anger mounting at his own helpless inability to set the situation to right. Then suddenly his Ka announced he had found Bakura, who was approaching them.

Marik waited with baited breath until he spotted his Blood Brother, slinking out of a back door and into view. He was being careful, Marik was somewhat happy to note, and he had no idea that Marik was in the bushes mere meters away. Marik was just considering sneaking up on him when a voice called out.

Bakura froze and turned around as a mortal in white jogged out of the back door and started talking to him in a cross manner. To Marik's shock Bakura laughed as if it were nothing new.

But shock gave way to rage as he realized Bakura seemed all too happy to endanger their safety by making himself familiar among the mortals. He should have known. Bakura had always had something of a weakness for the living. Marik had learnt the hard way that mortals were nothing but trouble. He also knew that Bakura was a stubborn fool that followed his wants without a care for the consequences. And Marik knew exactly how to deal with his wants.

Bakura stepped closer to the mortal, grinned, and then Marik's eyes widened to see him lean in and peck the bastard on the cheek. A cold fury tore through him and his Ka rose up within him in excitement. The mortal, a twenty-something with black hair and large eyes, looked flustered and said something that made Bakura laugh and Marik's fists tremble.

He didn't think. The moment Bakura was gone, out of eyeshot, Marik dashed to the door, flung it open and ran in. He immediately spotted the mortal, who began to spin around in surprise, and pounced upon him. He saw Bakura's grinning face and carefree smile, and he tore the little bastard's throat out with his teeth while his Ka feast on the mortal's life energy.

Marik only had the presence of mind to run away when his Ka warned of the approach of others, and took the corpse with him. He made it to the forest before he threw it down and realization seeped in.

Blood stained the front of his shirt and right hand. The body of the mortal lay like a rag doll with limbs in disarray, still loose and warm from recent life, its upturned face in wide-eyed and open-mouthed surprise. Marik ran his hand through his hair, realizing too late it was his bloodied hand he was using. Now he had to dispose of the body.

He settled down in beside the quickly cooling corpse and began disposing of the body the usual way: by eating it partially in order to simulate carnivore consumption. The locals would blame it on another dog attack. He bit a finger off and began chewing unenthusiastically when a thought struck him. Who said he _had_ to hide it?

He swallowed and used the hand's remaining fingers to scratch his chin in thought. Yes, he could definitely let them find the corpse with obvious signs of vampiric activity. That would force them to leave. Bakura wouldn't be able to argue his way around the logic of it. After all, they couldn't alert any humans of their whereabouts for fear that the information would leak to far more dangerous vampires.

So Marik flung the arm away from him and turned the corpse onto its side so he could get a good look at that neck… which was practically destroyed. Animal attack wasn't what he was going for. When it came to vampires in this part of the world, mutilation wasn't part of their calling cards. No matter. He stood up, dusting himself off and scratching away at the already drying blood on his hand. Mortals weren't something this area was short on.

-o-

Ryou waited in Malik-sama's room after lunch to help him change into his riding clothes, which were arranged on his bed. Ryou had finished his food early because he simply couldn't stand the overcrowded Servants' Hall. With the extra time he set about exploring the room. He opened drawers and fiddled with whatever his fingers landed on. Acquainting himself with his surroundings kept his mind occupied until he came to the dresser. Upon it, beside bottles of sweet-smelling lotions, he found a comb of mother of pearl.

His breath caught and his fingers trembled as he reached for it. It was undeniably Eastern, the same style as he had used. He traced the shapes of butterflies and tiny flowers that decorated the arch around the teeth. It was almost identical to the one he had used, or rather, the one that she had used to brush his hair on casual days.

"_Sit still!"_

"_I can do it," Ryou laughed, trying to turn around and snatch the comb from her hands. _

"_Don't you dare!" She held his shoulders firmly to keep him still. "You know I do it better."_

"_Amane-chan!" _

Ryou blinked in surprise and touched his cheek where a tear had managed to escape his eyes. He rubbed his eyes, walked back to his bed and curled up on it. It was his fault. If he had kept his mouth shut, if he hadn't given in. If he had run faster in the first place, if they hadn't been caught. He should have died; every day he spent alive was a sin against her. He buried his head into his pillow and stifled a sob.

Footsteps from behind the door tore him from his misery.

He stood up, rubbing furiously at his face and eyes to get rid of any wetness and straightened his clothing. The footsteps receded, probably another slave or servant, but it could be his Master next time. He sat down and let out a long calming sigh. His life belonged to his current Master, so until he died or was abandoned, his only preoccupation was to serve.

Fast footsteps approached and Ryou stood up in pre-emption. The door opened suddenly and Malik-sama stormed in. Ryou opened his mouth to welcome him until he noticed the terrified look on his face. He stood in the middle of the room as if unsure of what to do with himself.

Ryou heard more footsteps approach. He instinctively took a step back when Lord Ishtar-sama entered and closed the door behind him with a gentle click. Ryou looked between father and son apprehensively, but neither seemed to notice his presence.

"It is clear I have grown too lenient with you, my son," Lord Ishtar-sama said lowly. "Take off your shirt."

Malik-sama hesitated for a fraction of a second before jerkily unbuttoning his shirt. Although Ryou had helped him change before, Malik-sama had only ever changed his shirt and pants in the confines of his curtained bed. Now Ryou saw as the material parted that the dark skin was marred by scars. Most were thin almost invisible lines, neat and parallel to each other. Three that he could see were larger, uneven and puckered. Were it not for those three, Ryou could easily have overlooked the rest.

Malik-sama folded his shirt and tossed it on his bed.

Ryou noticed a glint and saw that Lord Ishtar-sama had a small knife in hand. He shrank back against the wall, his mind struggling to comprehend what was about to take place.

Lord Ishtar-sama advanced on Malik-sama, grabbed hold of his shoulder and pressed the knife to his chest. Ryou looked up at Malik-sama's face, away from the blade and the tearing skin. He saw him biting his lower lip furiously, eyes narrowed and staring straight forward.

He noticed red, and lowered his eyes before he could stop himself. Blood flowed freely from each cut. He tore his eyes away again and furiously wondered what by the heavens was going on! Bile rose up his throat and it took all his willpower not to gag, terrified of drawing attention to himself, of being included in this sick game.

The surreal scene seemed to go on for hours, but just when Ryou felt he wouldn't be able to keep silent or prevent himself from retching up his lunch, Lord Ishtar-sama stepped away from his son, wiping the blade.

"Clean up and get changed," he said all business-like. "You must be at the stables in fifteen minutes." He turned on his heels and left.

Ryou slowly looked away from the closed door and turned his attention to Malik-sama. He stood perfectly still for a few moments, then sank to his knees with a whimper. Ryou rushed over without thinking and fell to his knees beside him.

Malik-sama was fully sobbing, one hand clasped tightly over his mouth to try to stifle the sounds.

Ryou remembered the towel and basin and stood up. He wasn't sure if there was anything to dress the wounds, but the first thing he could do was clean them. He set the basin down beside Malik-sama and soaked half the towel in the long-cold water. He saw that Malik-sama was oblivious to his presence, so he gently placed a hand on his lap.

Malik-sama startled at his touch and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. He noticed the cloth and sat back so that Ryou had easier access to his chest. And what a mess that was. Blood dribbled down, staining his pants and floor. Ryou gently brushed the cloth along his upper torso, pausing whenever Malik-sama winced. He ran the cloth along the same direction that Lord Ishtar-sama's blade had taken so as not to open the wounds.

The horrid metallic smell filled his nostrils and Ryou almost gagged. He had never been trained for this; he wasn't supposed to be doing this. He was a pleasure slave; his only preoccupation should be music and beauty. He stilled his movements.

"There are bandages in the cabinet," Malik-sama said softly.

Ryou nodded and got to his feet. As awful as it was, Ryou couldn't leave Malik-sama like that. He found the cabinet and took out the white rolls of cloth. Malik-sama had thankfully taken over the efforts to clear out the blood.

Ryou unrolled a strip and hoped Malik-sama knew what to do. Apparently his new Master had practice with it and Ryou quickly learned to take over. Red blossomed along the bandages and Malik-sama allowed Ryou to wrap another layer. Ryou awkwardly tucked the end in, pausing when Malik-sama hissed.

"Is it too tight?" Ryou asked, though he wasn't sure he could unwrap it all and see those awful cuts again.

"No, it's fine," Malik-sama murmured, eyes downcast.

When Ryou began withdrawing his hands, Malik-sama suddenly caught his wrist. What happened next, Ryou blamed on habit and frayed nerves. He leaned in without thinking and pressed his lips against Malik-sama's.

Malik-sama jerked back in surprise and Ryou scooted away, realizing his mistake. "Sorry," he said quickly, his body already lowering into a deep bow before he had the presence of mind to stop himself. He hovered awkwardly in mid-bow.

"It's alright…" Malik-sama said in a small shocked voice. He cleared his throat and stood up with a pained hiss. "I need to get changed. Shit, I'm gonna be late."

Ryou quickly rose to his feet and began helping him change, relieved that his Master wasn't upset by his slip-up. He berated himself for forgetting that the Master always had to make the first move.

-o-

Farewells were short and uninspired. The villagers were the ones that most bemoaned their leave, especially Tristan's who had to practically fight off the old ladies and their gifts of fruit and broidery. Seto was just as glad as Joey to leave the Manor, and the lupine dog was running circles around them, chasing everything that moved.

After seven hours of riding, and their third stop, everyone had quietened, too busy dealing with their weariness and saddle sores to muster the energy to speak coherently. Joey had settled to walking beside Seto's horse, head low and tongue out. By nightfall they were all glad to chew on their dry bread and go to sleep in an open field, with only a blanket between them and the grass.

The next day found them back on the road with Roland insisting they take a small detour to the City of Toledo which was only about half a day away from the monastery. Not that anyone argued, but Roland had a way of speaking that made it seem as if the entire world was pitted against him.

It was five hours later, when the sun was at its highest, that Joey made the discovery. With a low bark, he veered off the road and into a grassy meadow. Seto promptly pulled his horse off the road and after Joey.

"Where do you think you're going?!" Roland called hoarsely after him, while Tristan followed suit without question. Seeing the others weren't taking note, he muttered his curses and followed them.

Joey was on a scent, nose to the ground, trotting along, sometimes pausing, sometimes looping around, but mostly going straight in one direction. It had to be the vampire that odd Southerner had spoken about. They had to be close to the River Lérez.

After a long discussion with Joey on the man's trustworthiness Seto had decided to see if they could find a vampire at that location. Joey had been unhappy with that decision, but Seto had yet to see him ever directly disobey his orders.

"Where is that damned beast taking us?" Roland barked.

"Just a small detour," Seto assured him. "We have plenty of time, after all."

* * *

Please R&R! =)

**Next chapter:** Malik rides into trouble and Seto walks into trouble. Bakura has to say goodbye to Ryou, WITHOUT talking to him. Can he do it? Also, Yami. Yes.


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